


Seven days

by MorganeUK



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cute Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Friendship/Love, Gen, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining John Watson, Pining Sherlock Holmes, Post-Season/Series 04, Rosie is a four-year-old, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-20 14:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: Is it possible to get there in seven days?





	1. The course of true love never did run smooth.

**Author's Note:**

> beta-read by Notjustmom!

It is a slow day, without anything special to do, or anywhere to go. Both men are quietly reading near the fire, sipping tea, away from the cold and snowy evening. Content to be together again, after all the things they had been through.

"Why do you love Shakespeare so much?" John asks as he watches his friend peacefully reading a well-loved beautiful edition of the Bard's complete works.

Closing the book softly, the detective barely needs it anyway as he already knows the plays by heart, Sherlock remains silent a while as John returned to his newspaper. "I... I think it's because everything is so clear," His voice was barely above a murmur as if he was still lost in his mind, his hand caressing the deep red jacket of the book "the feelings are raw, exposed." his eyes shift toward the fireplace, suddenly shy. "He knew how to express joy, anger, greed, madness, friendship, lust... love." John, not wanting to interrupt his friend and already surprised that Sherlock was really trying to explain something so personal, listens without saying a thing. Waiting for more. "How to show in words the bliss of a first kiss as well as the despair of grief." A laboured sigh escapes the tall man's lips, the subject suddenly strangely emotional "I... I know the signs, the motivation, the clues leading to these emotions but, but..." He stops again, unable to find the words to communicate his thoughts. _I don't know how to say these things! How to say when I'm hurt, how to say when I'm sad, how to say when I'm afraid, how to say when I love!_

Seeing his distress, the doctor simply smiles reassuringly. "What's your favourite quote? I think mine is  _Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt_." The warmth in his heart spreading up to his soul at the thought that his actual doubts were probably stopping him to take the greatest risk of all.  _The most beautiful risk of all_. His heartbeat a bit erratic as he keeps his gaze on the profile of the man he secretly loves, feasting on his sharp cheekbones, soft curls, and luscious lips.

"Probably,  _The course of true love never did run smooth_ ," Sherlock finally replies, turning his gaze on John's beloved eyes, looking deep to catch the specks of gold they were hiding, "it gives me hope...". 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: “The course of true love never did run smooth.” -Wm. Shakespeare/ first kiss/ Red
> 
> Because, when Shakespeare said that the course of true love never did run smooth, it was for John and Sherlock lol
> 
> Not smooth? OMG. Are you kidding me!


	2. I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever

"John!" Sherlock shouts from the back, not caring a second for the librarian's scandalized  _umph_ _!_ (She was happy to help the beautiful Byronesque man, but not to the detriment of silence!)

Deaf to the detective's bellow, the doctor remains in the lobby of the Robert Browning library, hypnotized by a memorial on the wall where Browning's words,  _I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever,_ were engraved on a plaque right under a bronze bust of the poet. 

Thinking about Sherlock, he sighs longingly, unable to shake how the rightness of the words correspond exactly to his life. The love letter he never dared to write.  _I am meant to look for him, taking care that he's eating and sleeping enough among everything else... I waited for him for years when he was away, knowing without acknowledging it that he was alive for me somewhere, as I am waiting for him again. Waiting for him to see me! To see us!_  

Turning on his heel, he smiles as the detective's graceful body jumps and struts everywhere, looking for a clue for today's case, looking perfect in his favourite purple shirt.  _I am already his, forever, if only he could open his eyes. He was so melancholic yesternight, so opened to his feelings, maybe if I_ _\--_

"JOHN!"

Putting the idea away for the moment, John rushes in the direction of his friend's voice before the mighty librarian evicts them from the library!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a librarian myself and I can say without any doubt that I will never EVER evicts Ben or Martin from my library! You need to scream Sir? No problem!
> 
> Day 2: “I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever.” -Robert Browning/ love letter/ purple


	3. Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.

The morning after, John was day-dreaming about confessing his affection to his best friend when Rosie jumped in his bed. Holding his little girl close, he smiles as she babbles, her indigo eyes sparkling with excitement. 

The doctor smiles softly, his heart full of joy and love at the sight of his daughter's happiness. The four-year-old was at home in Baker Street! Cherished by her father,  Ms. Hudson, Molly, and of course her Godfather.  _Sherlock_.  Another layer of fondness and affection found a place in his already bursting heart when the little girl starts talking and giggling about a game she played with the detective. As if it was possible, the place John had for love expands a bit every time her precious voice says 'Lock'. 

_And to think that I was certain when I returned from Afghanistan that I was a dead man. An empty shell unable to love, unworthy of affection._

Laughing as he blew a raspberry on the tummy of his (now screaming) little princess, he finally grabs her into his arms. "Come on, Ro', we need to wake up 'Lock if we want to go to the park!"

 

_A little bit later..._

The weather was perfect, the sun shining through Rosie's golden locks (or more precisely the few locks that have escaped her wool bonnet!).  She was walking between them, shielded from the passersby, happy to have the attention of both men. Because of course, her 'Lock decided to go to the park with them! The mighty detective, an enemy to the most notorious and horrible criminals, was unable to say no the little girl.

Sherlock mind was elsewhere, but nevertheless he was focussing only on the current outing. Calculating the angle of the sun, the density of ice, the humidity that was announcing a bit of snow later, how many different odours are floating in the air.   _The food's from Speedy's, the wood's burning, the salt on the street and sidewalks... Rosie's strawberry soap, the lavender scent of her clothes, the blueberries she ate right before_ _they_ _left._  

And everything that was... John.  _Tea, Earl Grey, hand lotion with vanilla, wool, leather, coconut oil from his hair product, and his own unique scent._ Unable to stop a second, his Mind was acquiring a massive amount of data.  Most of it quite trivial to the eyes of others, but essential and precious to Sherlock.  _How is it possible that I have enough room in my Mind Palace for all this? For everything new that this little girl constantly brings, for everything bright that my feelings for... for them have created!_

He was lost in the warmth of his thoughts when Rosie grabbed his hand with force. "The park! The park!"   

"Yes, darling, it's the park!" He turned to smile at John, whose own grin was brighter than the winter sun, and the three of them run in direction of the playground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because having a special place in Sherlock's Mind Palace is as important of being in his heart... Except if you're a criminal of course!
> 
> 3: “Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.” -Zelda Fitzgerald/ love confessions/indigo


	4. What are you to do with the people who are cursed with both hearts and brains?

It is a nice Sunday morning, the sun tamed by light snow, everything peaceful outside... The few cars driving slowly and silently as if they voluntarily wanted to keep the occupants of 221b in a quiet bubble. It's good, it's still early and everyone was in bed. 

Turning on his side, Sherlock smiles as he thinks about yesterday's outing with Rosie... and John. It was perfect, just perfect. Rosie was in a good mood, John well rested after a good night of sleep, was equally happy and relaxed, the weather was cold but sunny.

The wall he had built around his heart the first time he saw the little girl didn't last long, especially since the doctor returned to 221b, with a little bundle in his arms. His silent vow to protect her at any cost but to keep his distance because she was the testimony of John's love for Mary was destined to fail. The wonderful gift she was in his life crushed the wall around his heart, the wall that was already crumbling under the weight of his feelings for her father... He wasn't an idiot, far from it, he knew that the image that they projected was one of a perfect family. Most of the gazes they received weren't judgmental, the few bigots clearly outnumbered. 

 _A family. I shouldn't think about this, I am not Rosie's parent, one day... one day John is going to leave._ _I am doomed, I'm already in possession of a superior brain, why couldn't fate leave my heart alone! I can't handle both!_ The mere idea that John may one day take everything and just leave him behind was excruciating!  _Rosie's laughs, her little items of clothing, so little and cute, the cuddly bee her father gave her last Christmas, John's off-key singing while making breakfast, the way he always spread the golden honey of my toast with a little smile as if saying 'Gotcha! You're going to eat this morning!' All of this is going to be replaced by a weekly visit, then monthly, then..._

Unable to stop torturing himself, silent tears suddenly flood his eyes.  _He has said many times that he wasn't looking for a wife anymore, that once was enough! Especially with the way it ended. But... John is a caring man, he deserved to have someone that loves him. Or more precisely, someone that he loves back._

Quickly drying his eyes at the small noise of a spoon dropping on the kitchen floor, he listens as John mutters, "shhhh darling, 'Lock is still sleeping, it's so rare so we are going to be careful and walk like little mice!"

"Yes!" the little girl shouts before murmuring to her father in a conspiratorial tone, "'Lock is sleeping. Shhhhhh! Can I watch the movie with the penguins?"

"Yes, honeybee, I know that you love penguins!" The only sound for a minute was John walking slowly to the living and fussing around to find the  _March of the Penguins_ when Rosie loudly chatters from the kitchen, already forgetting that she was supposed to whisper.

"Daaaaaaaddy! I love penguins! And I love you! And 'Lock!"

Sherlock pushes his tears away and chuckles at the toddler's tirade -  _being in third place after the penguins was proof that Rosie was advanced for her age!_  - but never heard John's small 'me too, darling, me too...'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: “What are you to do with the people who are cursed with both hearts and brains?” -Dorothy L. Sayers/ gift/ golden


	5. In the morning it was morning and I was still alive

John is alone in the dark. All alone. Something that is common now that Mary's home-made personal ghost left him when he came back to 221b. Sometimes he misses her, her blunt view on life. The way she allows him to say things he didn't dare to say out loud.

But now, he is alone, alone with his thoughts, alone with his actions, alone with his words... 

>  
> 
> _A few hours before..._
> 
>  
> 
> Rosie is asleep, Angelo's food has been eaten, and the only things left are half of the bottle of wine and one portion of tiramisu. The discussion is easy, as it has been since John's return, floating between Rosie's perfection, cold and active cases, John's patients, Sherlock's experiments. A glass of wine in hand, the portion of the creamy delicacy between them, the discussion dies as they share the dessert.
> 
> But it is all okay, it is a comfortable silence. 
> 
> To John, it is perfect. The sight of his friend's delight as he eats, the romantic idea of eating from the same plate strangely comforting, the good bottle, Sherlock eyes even shinier because of the glass of wine, his cheeks a nice pink... 
> 
> It is suddenly too much. And too little.
> 
> John heart explodes, unable to contain his feelings, wanting to screams at this wonderful man, at the whole world that he loves him. That he, John H. Watson, wants to jump over the table to lick the mascarpone from the luscious lips of the detective.
> 
> Putting down his spoon, he rises and turns around the table to drops on his knees in front of a stunned Sherlock. Tranquilly, he removes the spoon and places it on the table, doing the same with the wine. Holding his hands in his, catching the panicked eyes of Sherlock he murmurs. "Shhhh, nothing wrong, nothing to worry, It's just that... I can't... I can't do this anymore. I can't stay silent." He chuckles lightly, embarrassed by his own clumsiness."You probably read it all over me years ago... But... Sherlock, my friend, my best friend, I... I can't imagine a life without you, I love you, in all the ways someone can love a human as brave, as good, as beautiful as you. I love you. And I was hoping that -"
> 
> As Sherlock remains silent, his eyes now fixed on a point further away and not looking at his friend at all, John stutters. "Oh my God, sorry, sorry, don't, don't react like this, please. No, I mean, you can and must react as you want!"  _Its like when I asked him to be my best man, does he -_ But John's dilemma is cut short as Sherlock removes his hands slowly, pushes back out of his chair, picks up his coat, and walks out of the flat.

Unable to run after him because of Rosie, wanting to give him some space, John sits alone for hours in the quiet living room. Thinking about how stupid he's been, about how he could have said things differently maybe...  He sends a few texts that go unanswered, he worries until his phone finally chimes.

> He's walking, sitting on benches, then walking again. Don't worry, I'm keeping an eye on him. MH

Exhausted, John finally walks up to his room, where he knows only a night full of tormented dreams is waiting for him.

 

The light glow coming from the window wakes him gradually the next morning. It is still early, but he had forgotten to close the blinds when he dropped on his bed the night before. Too emotional to think about the Earth revolving around the sun, about the light replacing the dark grey of the night. Opening his eyes slowly, he groans and closes them immediately as memories of the last evening flash in front of his eyes.  _How could I have been such an idiot, risking everything, risking Rosie's relationship with her dear 'Lock, risking the only way that I could be with him every day while loving him from a far._

Turning onto his back, he opens his eyes again to stare at the ceiling.  _I will never wake up in the downstairs bedroom, both of us cuddling under the comforter... How could it be such a morning, an ordinary morning like so many other Monday when I lose everything._  The pain he feels at the idea of what would never be real is so strong that his whole body hurt, the mere concept of losing Sherlock's friendship hurts even more.   

_Rosie. I must take care of her_. 

He is about to get up when his eyes catch a movement in the corner of his room. Too mentally drained to even think about protecting himself, he turns to see that Sherlock was sitting on the floor in the corner of his bedroom. "... Sherlock?"

"I'm so sorry that... that I left like that." His hair is a disaster, last night's rain destroying his usually perfect curls, and his eyelids are heavy. "I walked, for hours... then I came back and watched you sleep, waiting, and, and, if what you said is true, if it isn't a figment of my imagination, if I didn't blow everything by running away like a coward... I... I... Yes."

"Yes?" John repeats, his hopes are rising, his voice roughened by sleep and his emotions.

"Yes. I do. I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally...
> 
> Day 5: “In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.” Charles Bukowski/ cuddling/ grey


	6. Your eyelashes will write on my heart the poem that could never come from the pen of a poet.

Emotions altering his voice, John murmurs, "come here".

Removing his jacket - shoes and coat already dropped outside the bedroom  - Sherlock walks to the bed. Never such a small distance was made so slowly, the eagerness and joy pushed down by fear and doubt. The idea that this man, this wonderful human who is still able to care and love after everything life has thrown at him wants him, _him_  out of everyone? _It was impossible... I don't --_

"What going on in that brilliant brain of yours?" John says softly, interrupting Sherlock before he falls in a self-loathing loop. "Everything is okay and nothing going to happen that you don't want..." Lifting his blanket, he smiles. "And as I am a doctor, I can't let you shiver like that, you must be cold, sitting on the floor near the window for hours. Come here, love, you must be so tired, we still have a few hours before Rosie wakes up." The term of endearment escapes his lips but he doesn't regret it.  _Yes I do like it. Love._

Amazement in his incomparable eyes, his best friend repeats back, "love..." in a reverent tone, as if he isn't allowed to say the word. 

"Yes, of course, love. How could I call you anything else when my whole life outside Rosie orbits around you. The feelings I've always had, since I can't remember," he chuckles suggestively. "The constant sexual frustration... But that part is going to have to wait, you look knackered." Now sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, he extends a hand. Sherlock, finally giving in, places a trembling hand in John's and lets him guide his body until they were next to each other. Closing his eyes, the detective shyly places his head on John's shoulder, slouching a bit to make up for the height difference.  Holding him tight against him without even thinking like it was a movement repeated many times, relieved to hear a small content sigh, John isn't absolutely sure that he isn't dreaming. 

Looking adoringly at the man in his arms, he marvels as Sherlock's eyelashes cast shadows on his beautiful face, the dim light not strong enough to light up the room completely. As a soft smile settles on his lips, he gently traces the darkness under his eyes, trying to understand the pattern as if Sherlock's soul was sending him a secret message. 

"What are you doing?" The detective mutters, a second away from falling asleep. 

After a soft kiss on the top of his curls, he murmurs, "shhhhh love, sleep, I'm only reading."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! 
> 
> Day 6: “Your eyelashes will write on my heart the poem that could never come from the pen of a poet.” -Rumi


	7. Love is many things, none of them logical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thanks again Notjustmom for the nice challenge!

A few hours of sleep later, they were suddenly awakened by something weighing a ton and screaming! "Dadddddddddy!" It was Rosie of course, her lightweight counterbalance by her enthusiastic jumping on the bed. It was a great prowess as the available space was smaller than usual because of the presence of her lanky Godfather. "Daddddy! I got a gift! It's a surprise! It's on the kitchen table! It's a heart that I made with pasta! And I painted it pink!" Finally computing that her father wasn't alone, she stops jumping and drops into the really tiny space between them, pushing them a bit to be able to get a cuddle from both. "Why is 'Lock in your bed? Is it because it's Valentine's Day?" A big smile appears on her lips and she asks with a thrilled tone at the idea. "Are you going to kiss?

John, looking at Sherlock who with dishevelled black curls and bed eyes is simply glorious, smirks and discreetly point blank asks his bedfellow, "I don't know, what are you thinking  _love_ , should we kiss?" 

"Yes, we should  _definitively_  kiss!" Laughing, both men quickly cover Rosie with loud kisses, until she runs out of the bed taking most of the blanket with her. 

Eyeing the detective, who is still in day clothes, black trousers and all, she frowns. "'Lock, why are you not in your pyjamas?" 

"I was too tired last night, darling, I didn't had the time to change before falling in bed..." Sherlock replies, instinctively hugging John back now that Rosie wasn't between there anymore.  _Maybe I shouldn't have done that?_ John's strong arms stretch out to hold him back was the best confirmation that it was, in fact, really okay.

"And you didn't kiss!" Her little arms folded to show how serious she was. "When you love someone and sleep in the same bed you kiss!"

"But, Rosie," John asks patiently, "you don't mind if I kiss Sherlock?" 

Rolling her eyes - probably to mimic the detective - she sighs theatrically (Okay, okay, clearly copying Sherlock) "NO! Kissing is what you do when you love someone. Can we do pancakes for breakfast? Red with brilliant in it?? Please 'Lock, please 'Lock, please 'Lock! For Valentines Day!"

"Your father is going to be late for work, so we better go on with it then!" Sherlock replies - unable to say no as always - before turning his attention on John for the most breathless, wonderful, loving kiss possible while staying PG. "Come on 'Ro! We need to find the sparkles!"

John's head falls back on his pillow, a stupid grin on his face.  _It's Valentine's Day! And Sherlock is going to be my boyfriend._ He giddily jumps off the bed to get ready to work.

 

The detective was about to go out to fetch the little girl after he carefully stored his experiment when his telephone rings.  _Mycroft._

"What do you want?" Their relationship is warmer, but it was hard to change decades of habits. "It's the end of the afternoon, I need to go to the kindergarten."

"Just to let you know that I'm going to take care of Rosamund, so you don't have to worry about her. I planned an outing at the Museum as well as a sleep-over with a Disney movie and popcorn."

"Why do you want to spend time with her? And,  **y** **ou** planned?" Sherlock jokes, knowing perfectly that his brother didn't plan anything of the sort!

"It's Anthea of course, but you know as I'm paying her..." he sighs, "And I think she's a curious little girl and I like her very much. As much as a child can be likeable, of course. But in comparison to others, I think she's really -"

" **Why** , Mycroft."

"So... you have all the time you may need to..." The conversation is clearly hard on the older Holmes. And Sherlock isn't going to make it easier, the brat.

"Tooooo?"

"To... _cement_ your relationship with Doctor Watson."

_It's true that a_ _fter sparking red pancakes and a few more kisses, they spent the day apart._ To say that they were dizzyingly happy would be an understatement, but they do need more! "I didn't realise you were a romantic, Mycroft, what's going on? Haven't you someone to harass on that special day?"

"Love is many things, brother mine, none of them logical and I do love you a great deal. But no, I don't have anyone to, as you put it, 'harass' today". His tone, with a slight edge of sadness, wasn't lost on his brother.

"You know that -"

"Sherlock." The finality in his voice is clear, he didn't want to talk about it. "So, I'm going to get her and take care of everything and you go... prepare anything you need."

"Thank you, Mycroft, really." Sherlock sincerity was obvious.

"My pleasure, brother mine, to finally see the conclusion of something that's been nearly ten years in the making..." after a little laugh, he murmurs "Good evening, Sherlock. And good night!" 

 

Looking at his phone while his cheeks turn the most flamboyant red, Sherlock quickly starts to prepare everything for a perfect evening. And if his browser history listed a few searches that he's going to deny having made, even on his death bed, nobody will ever know! 

_After all, it's only the first day of the rest of their lives!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little sweet happy ending... plus a little gift in chapter 8 ;-)
> 
> Day 7: “Love is many things, none of them logical.” -William Goldman/ comfort/ black


	8. Bonus! Sherlock's browser history




End file.
